


I'll be fine

by Skauniz



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Comfort/Angst, Dorian and Cullen are my headcanon BROTP, Dorian is skilled with his staff, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Lyrium Addiction, Lyrium Withdrawal, Major Character Injury, Red Lyrium, because Cullen deserves all the fluff, more atmosphere than substance, too many adjectives, totally no pun intended, yay finally some fluff!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-04-30 21:40:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5180723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skauniz/pseuds/Skauniz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He could see the enemy in front of him now: a twisted monster of grey flesh and jagged crimson crystals, dull reddish lights glowing in the narrow slit of the Templar helmet where once human eyes had been. The angry red blade that functioned as the creature's arm had sliced through his shield with incredible force, tearing open the silverite cover and splintering the wooden core. It had then cleaved deeply into the commander's side, the hardened leather doublet no match for its ferocious sharpness."</p><p>--</p><p>I've been wanting to write a longer fic for my Inquisitor and Cullen for a long time, but I figured I should probably start with something shorter for practice, so I started writing this very random little piece to get a feel for it. As the story progressed it turned more into a piece about the friendship between Cullen and Dorian. Totally not sorry though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He didn't see it coming until it was far too late.

He felt a thrust of red fury launched at him from behind more than he could actually see it, and guided by a warrior instinct steeled in almost two decades of fighting he hurled around his shield to meet its force. The impact sent an ungodly noise reverberating through the bones of his shield arm, the sound of lacerating metal and cracking wood. He could see the enemy in front of him now: a twisted monster of grey flesh and jagged crimson crystals, dull reddish lights glowing in the narrow slit of the Templar helmet where once human eyes had been.

The angry red blade that functioned as the creature's arm had sliced through his shield with incredible force, tearing open the silverite cover and splintering the wooden core. It had then cleaved deeply into the commander's side, the hardened leather doublet no match for its ferocious sharpness.

Cullen saw the blade pierced into his abdomen, but it took a few eerie, seemingly endless seconds until the pain set in. It finally came as a fierce, furious sting, burning in his flesh. It felt literally hot and Cullen remembered how the Inquisitor spoke about the red lyrium deposits she had found in Emprise du Lion and how they melted the surrounding snow. He knew he had to get that thing out of him, preferably without losing his shield, and he had to do it fast, or else...

He tilted the shield slightly and thrust it downwards with all the force he could muster up. He knew the strength of the lyrium blade was its unforgiving sharpness, enabling it to cut even through material much stronger than itself. But the crystalline structure also made it fragile and unable to withstand blunt force, if applied in the proper angle. The shield's thrust sundered the creature's arm apart with the sound of breaking glass, pieces of it vaporizing in a cloud of red crystal dust.

The pain in Cullen's side intensified by a multitude when he ripped his shield free from the remaining edge of the broken blade, leaving only the tip dug deep into his flesh. The creature staggered, flailing helplessly with the stump of his arm, and before it could recover the commander drove his sword deep into the pallid flesh of its chest. It didn't bleed, but made a deep gargling sound when Cullen forcefully pulled back his sword with the help of his boot pushed against the rib cage of the corrupted templar. Another powerful swing of the longsword's blade severed the creature's head and sent it flying in its helmet until it landed with a splash in the shallow waters of the small river that had become their battlefield.

Cullen took a deep breath and looked around. In the lush green environment of the Arbor Wilds he saw his soldiers fighting against Red Templars and corrupted Wardens, clearing a path to the old elven temple for the Inquisitor.

All has been going according to plan until that damn...

Pain shot through Cullen's body with a suddenness that made him buckle over. It was not the normal ache from his ripped flesh, this was a different pain, new and yet familiar, that clawed its way through every vein of his body and deep into the marrow of his bones. His hand clasped the wound at his side where the fiery red of the lyrium blade was now coated by the dark crimson of his blood gushing from the torn flesh.

The lyrium, that cursed red lyrium. He needed... he needed to...

He needed to concentrate, clear his head and remove the lyrium fragments from the wound, but the relentless pain sent his thoughts into a turmoil and blurred his vision, turning his surroundings into an indistinct green mess. It wasn't until he felt the wet coldness of the creek around his shins that he realized he had sunken to his knees, his blood turning the clear waters beneath him red.

It was the shout of one of his soldiers that dragged his mind back out of the mist.

"It's the Inquisitor!"

Cullen lifted his head in surprise.

Actually, no, it wasn't a surprise. While they hadn't expected the Inquisitor and her party for at least another hour, it wasn't a surprise that she somehow managed to arrive here that early. It was just like her to charge through the foe-infested wilderness with that same unstoppable force that had also carried the inquisition through every hardship and over every obstacle their enemy tried to hurl at them. _She_ was unstoppable, a force of nature, fierce and fiery, a fearless lioness.

 _His_ lioness.

Fireballs erupted around him now, and arcs of lightning sent a group of templars to the ground, shivering in agony. And in-between that whirlwind of blood and magic was she, her shield reflecting the rays of sunlight breaking through the foliage, her sword dancing between enemies with deadly precision, sending limbs flying and spattering blood over the wet stones of the riverbed. With the added help, the remaining foes were disposed of easily.

With gritted teeth Cullen sat up on his heels, his hand still pressed against the wound on his side that refused to stop bleeding. And suddenly her eyes were right in front of him. Now opened wide with worry, piercing green with a golden star in the middle. He could never see those eyes and not think how amazingly beautiful they were.

"Cullen! Are you alright?" Hjordis asked in her warm velvet voice.

Cullen made an effort to stand up, but all that did was made him tumble over rather ungracefully when his legs refused to carry his weight. Hjordis tried to catch his fall and laid him down gently in front of her, her eyes scanning over his body with concern.

"What happened? Let me get you a healer and..."

He flailed his free hand at her aimlessly, getting hold of the burgundy quillback leather coat she wore over her armor. He gripped it tightly, his eyes seeking hers, mouth opening a few times in vain until he regained his voice.

"I'll be fine, Inquisitor. Keep going."

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Red Templar Shadows are evil. Eeeevil. They pretty much one-hit-killed most of my companions on Nightmare difficulty when they managed to get a backstab. And my Inquisitor usually only survived their backstabs because her Champion specialization made her virtually unkillable. So I can't really blame Cullen for getting stabbed here^^
> 
> This is my first fic and English is not my native language, so please excuse any mistakes and errors!
> 
> Hjordis is an old Norse name that means "sword goddess".


	2. Chapter 2

"Cullen, you..."

Hjordis' glance hurried over the commander's body as it lay in front of her in the flat riverbed. The shallow water barely managed to submerge his legs, but she made sure that the upper part of his body lay on dry and solid ground. She saw small streams of blood being carried away by the gentle currents of the water. Finally her eyes caught onto his hand clasping tightly at his left side. Thick, dark blood seeped through his fingers and she moved her hand over his in a clumsy attempt to stop the bleeding. 

"I'm not going to leave you here until I know you are safe," she insisted. "There are healers in the rearguard, they will..."

"No time," Cullen interrupted her, his voice hoarse and his breathing heavy. "You need to... stop Corypheus. Reach the temple before him." His face contorted for a second when a sudden flash of pain pulsed through his body. "I have elfroot potions," he finally continued. "I will survive until the healers arrive."

When she looked at him she made no effort to hide the concern on her face. But as Cullen spoke to her the concern slowly gave way to a different expression, brows furrowed, lips pressed together in determination. Cullen had seen that face before, it has been months ago, but now it seemed like it was just yesterday. In that fated night at Haven when a ravaging archdemon threatened to extinguish the young Inquisition under his fiery breath. That fated moment when she decided that she had to go out there and face that unknown ancient evil with nothing but a flimsy shield and sword to protect her. It was a different situation, back then it was her life that she threw at the enemy with death-defying determination to protect the lives of everyone else. Now she was asked to leave behind the man she loved to an unknown fate. This task seemed to weigh harder on her, but the unflinching resolve in her eyes was just the same as in that windswept night in the Frostback Mountains, and it filled Cullen with an irrational sense of pride. 

She knew what she had to do, and she would do it, whatever it takes.

Cullen blinked when the shadow of another person fell upon him. He saw long tight nugskin leather gloves, garishly white in the midday sun and somehow unstained even in the wilderness and, in stark contrast to that, a copper brown arm, left bare by a bizarrely convoluted robe made from dark-blue velvet. Cullen didn't even have to look up to see the man's face to know who it was - he knew only one man who would wear such a ridiculously extravagant attire into battle.

Sure enough, it was Dorian, who now glanced over from Hjordis to Cullen and back again. The mage seemed to have a quick grasp of the situation when he laid his hand on Hjordis' arm and spoke to her in his dark, balmy voice with the slight Tevinter cadence.

"You go on ahead. I will stay here and make sure he will be alive until the healers arrive."

Hjordis looked at him, pondering. "But you...," she began.

"I realize that Solas is not nearly as entertaining and amusing a travel companion as my humble self - let's not even mention his appalling lack of style," Dorian quipped with a lighthearted smile. The sort of lighthearted smile he would wear even in a dire situation like this and that would never fail to cheer up Hjordis. "But I can assure you, Solas is quite capable otherwise and surely knows more about all the things elven that await you here. I think you will be able to spare me for this one."

After a few moments of consideration, Hjordis nodded, her hand on Dorian's shoulder in wordless agreement. Then she turned back to Cullen, clasping his free hand with hers as she leaned down to him.

"I will be back, I promise. Just hold on a little longer." She kissed him gently on the forehead, but Cullen tilted his head a bit upwards to steal another kiss from her lips, and Hjordis didn't object.

"I'll be fine," Cullen muttered again, but this time it was as much for her benefit as it was for his. He wouldn't allow himself the thought that this clumsy little kiss in the murmuring waters of the Arbor Wilds could be last they ever shared. The wound itself was not his main concern - while bad and painful it was nothing that a decent healer could not fix, assuming they arrived here before he bled out. The jagged red crystals stuck under his skin that now sent shockwaves of pain through his bones however were of greater concern. So great in fact that he had made quite an effort to hide them from the Inquisitor by carefully placing his hand over the wound the entire time. 

There was no need to worry her any further.

Hjordis cupped his cheek with one gloved hand and then slowly, very slowy stood up, only breaking eye contact with Cullen when she finally turned to leave. Cullen heard the splashes of her footsteps as she ran through the riverbed back to her team and onwards into an unknown danger. When he tilted his head to the side he saw her disappear into she shadows of a long dark hallway leading to the ancient temple.

"Well then, Commander," Dorian began, as he turned back to Cullen. "How about we get you out of the water? Surely that can't be comfortable."

Cullen huffed in agreement as he struggled to sit up, only to be gently pushed back down again by the Tevinter mage. "Leave that to me, my friend," Dorian said as he stood up and got hold of Cullen's shoulders to drag him out of the water.

It took a few moments and a string of what Cullen assumed to be subdued Tevinter curses, most likely at his expense, but finally the commander's body rested fully on the dry riverbank.

"And now let me take a look at that injury if you will." Despite his usual playful tone it wasn't really a request, but more of an order. "I am no healer, but I know a spell or two, it should be enough to slow the bleeding at least." Reluctantly Cullen let him move his hand away from the wound and the mage immediately began to examine the wounded tissue. It didn't take him long to notice the cause of the damage and a streak of apprehension flashed over his normally affable face. Angry spikes of red lyrium protruded from the torn leather of Cullen's doublet.

Dorian paused and exchanged a glance with Cullen. No words were necessary, the mage knew what this meant and what he had to do. Without hesitation and with quick fingers he began to pull the splintered shards of the crystal blade from the wound, Cullen's blood dying the brilliant white of his gloves in deep crimson. Cullen flinched ever so slightly with each splinter ripped from his flesh, but he didn't utter a single sound the whole time.

Dorian had almost finished his little impromptu operation, when commotion erupted among the soldiers that stood guard further up the river. Soon the sound of warning horns echoed through the woods and a scout came running, shouting breathlessly. 

"Red Templars approaching from North-East!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I use too many colorful adjectives? I dunno, I just love adjectives. Thesaurus is my best friend.
> 
> For this story it is assumed that Dorian and Cullen are quite well acquainted and that Dorian knows about Cullen's lyrium withdrawal. How that happened is anyone's guess and it's probably better suited as material for another story, but it most likely started with a game of chess ^^


	3. Chapter 3

"Never a dull moment for Southerners indeed," Dorian sighed as he quickly got back on his feet, staff in hand. He whirled the rod through the air artfully and as he thrust its tip into the stony riverbank he threw up a dome-shaped barrier around himself and the commander. 

Red Templars began pouring in from the green woods like a swarm of angry insects and the Inquisition soldiers and their Orlesian allies engaged them immediately. Dorian however didn't move from his chosen spot. He was the last line of defense and no one would get past him without a fight. But Cullen was not content to sit out this battle. He downed a flask of elfroot potion and then made another attempt to sit up. 

Dorian would have none of it. As soon as he noticed the movement behind him, he gently pushed the commander back down with the tip of his staff. "For the love of Andraste, Cullen, would you just lie down please?" he sighed, as a Red Templar Horror collapsed at his feet, incinerated by a fireblast. "Take your potions and let me handle the rest."

Cullen huffed dismissively and tried to sit up once more, only to feel the edge of Dorian's staff on his chest again, pushing him back down. The almost comical procedure repeated another two times, and somehow Dorian always found a break in his attack routines to point his staff behind him and ensure that Cullen stayed where he was.

Finally the exasperated commander snarled at him. "Maker's breath, Dorian, stop this nonsense and..." He abruptly stopped mid-sentence, when another flash of pain erupted through his body, sharper and more intense than any of those before. Agonizing convulsions made him roll over on his side as he curled up on himself. But it wasn't just pain he felt. There was a power that swept in with the pain, somewhere hidden beneath the furious throbbing in his veins - a familiar, frightful power, beckoning him to embrace it.

This time Dorian didn't notice his friend's predicament. Not far away from them a Grey Warden mage had plopped down from the ruined bridge spanning the small river and he had caught the Tevinter's full attention. Dorian rammed his staff into the ground once more, renewing the barrier over the two of them, just in time to shield off the explosion of ice the corrupted Warden hurled at them. Veins of ice licked across the dome of the barrier and it was visibly exhausting for Dorian to maintain a protective shield of this size.

Finally the frozen coat that had gripped the barrier exploded with the noise of shattering glass and evaporated around them. Dorian quickly turned the tables and sent a bunch of fireballs towards the enemy mage, but he had cast a barrier of his own, letting the flames roll off his shield of arcane energy.

Cullen barely registered the clash of elements that raged around him. He gasped for air as the pain finally receded, leaving behind a strange emptiness. And in the depth of this emptiness reverberated a familiar old song, but more dissonant and angrier than what he used to know. He dug his fingers into the moist soil below him, as if trying to claw his way out of the pain-induced haze in his mind. 

Suddenly a familiar sensation of magic rinsed through his muscles, tingling in every nerve of his body. When he opened his eyes he noticed that the ground beneath him had started to glow in a glaring purple-white. A dizzying light began to engulf his hands that were still clasping the ground, and it was pulling his whole body towards the earth like a warm, languid embrace. It took Cullen a few moments to realize that this was some sort of magical glyph, and most likely not a good one. Dorian's barrier must have waned off long enough for the Warden mage to place it beneath them.

As the light intensified, a paralyzing inertia crawled through Cullen's limbs, evoking old memories, all of them bad. He struggled against the glyph's relentless pull, gritting his teeth as he tried to push himself up. He couldn't see what Dorian was doing, but if the mage had any sense left in him, he surely would have fled by now, vacating the area of the glyph while he still could. Then again, if Cullen had learned anything about the irritating Tevinter then that one probably shouldn't expect him to be sensible in a situation like this.

And sure enough, when Cullen finally managed to tilt his head slightly to the side he saw Dorian's white leather boots firmly planted on the ground beside him. This could end very badly for both of them. Surely the enemy mage was already summoning up some major spell to finish them off while the glyph's gravity impaired their movements. Something had to be done, and it had to be done quickly.

Just when the power of the glyph threatened to overpower Cullen completely, an old instinct took command of his body and mind, pushing back the throes of panic that had begun to crawl up through his muscles. He felt strong, he felt powerful, he felt in control, he...

He reared up with a strangled cry, sending a pale blue shockwave of cleansing energy in all directions, breezing through the foliage and rippling over the surface of the river. The glyph beneath him vanished almost immediately and the hostile mage, unprepared und unsuspecting, got knocked over, his barrier collapsing completely under the nullifying wave that swept over him.

Dorian was not unaffected by the sudden resurgence of Templar prowess, but he recovered faster than his opponent and he quickly took advantage of the situation, finishing off the enemy with an eruption of flames, engulfing him from below. Then he swirled back around to face Cullen, who was now cowering on the ground, panting heavily.

"Maker's breath, Cullen, what did you do?" Astonishment made Dorian's voice sound unusually high-pitched. It was unclear whether his consternation stemmed from the fact that he witnessed real templar powers for the very first time - the Templars of his homeland being little more than glorified soldiers - or if he was just genuinely shocked to see Cullen of all people perform them.

But now was not the time for such deliberations, as a group of Red Templars had broken away from the Inquisition lines and were now advancing on their position. Dorian quickly turned around again and prepared for their assault.

Meanwhile reality gradually sunk back into Cullen's mind. He felt as if he was slowly emerging from a pool of pure energy, and already he missed its warm embrace. The power was gone, the control was gone, and all that was left was this frightening emptiness, ready to swallow him whole.  


He needed it. More of it. He needed to be in control.

When he looked up he saw Dorian, still fighting against the onslaught of corrupted Templars. Several small flasks were tugged into the mage's belt, making gentle clinking sounds at every movement. And even though their appearance didn't betray their content, some of them were most likely lyrium, surely they had to be. He could practically sense it now, for the first time in months he could hear the alluring song of the lyrium just from being near it. It was less an audible sound than it was an irresistible vibration, buzzing through the air around him and deep into his bones. 

Cullen flailed his arm at Dorian, trying to get a hold of the belt or the flasks within it. But his movements were still shaky, and all he managed to grab was the mage's velvet robe - precariously the part of it that covered his behind.

"Dorian... I need...," Cullen panted.

Dorian reached behind him and slapped away Cullen's hand from his backside in an almost casual fashion, like a mother would slap her child on the wrist when she caught it stealing from the cookie jar. He didn't turn around when he started to speak again, his voice strained in concentration from the ongoing battle, but not entirely without his usual mischievous undertones. "My dear Commander, if your intent is to touch me in indecent places, I am sure we can arrange something once this is over - provided the Inquisitor does not object, which I fear she might. But if you were in fact trying to grab my lyrium supplies and not my marvelously well-shaped buttocks, then I am afraid I cannot accommodate you."

"I can help. I can fight," Cullen insisted. "Just let me..."

"I promised the Inquisitor to keep you safe until she returns," Dorian interrupted him. "And if I turned you over to her care hooked back on lyrium, she would surely have my head for breakfast - or brunch, as it were, given her outstanding talent for oversleeping regularly."

"Dorian...!" Cullen's voice was now a threatening growl when he reached up for the flasks again.

This time the mage turned around to him. Once more he used the tip of his staff to push the commander back to the ground, rougher than each time before, yet with nothing but kindness on his face.

"And more importantly," Dorian continued, "you are my friend and I will not let you do this to yourself."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was just recently replaying DA:O and I always thought the "Cleanse Area" skill looked awesome in action, so this is what I was going for here.
> 
> Also, writing Dorian is just too much fun!


	4. Chapter 4

Cullen slapped Dorian's staff away from his chest again with an indignant expression on his face and pushed himself up once more. He sat down on his heels, bent slightly forwards, hands propped up on his knees and he drew a deep breath. An alarmingly huge part of his overcoat was stained dark along the waist, soaked with his blood, but at least the elfroot potion seemed to have reduced the bleeding to a trickle.

"Dorian, this is an emergency. There may be more enemies coming and I am useless if I don't...," he snarled at the mage, his forehead crumpled in anger and his eyes filled with a disquieting hunger.

"Then allow yourself to be useless, just this one time," Dorian replied with a tender voice. 

"Don't be ridiculous," Cullen snapped. "I am the Commander of the Inquisition. I have to..."

Dorian didn't let him finish. "Who is being ridiculous now? You can barely stand up, let alone fight, with or without lyrium. You won't be helping your soldiers by staggering through the woods like a drunken Bronto. Your men can handle this. A few dozen Red Templars are a poor excuse for you to undo months of struggle." 

"It's already been undone," Cullen hissed through gritted teeth as he pressed his left hand on the wound where the lyrium blade had pierced his flesh.

Dorian was unfazed. "Ah, well," he pondered. "A few pinches of red lyrium dust in your blood won't turn you into a Red Templar, nor will they make it impossible for you to continue the path you have chosen. Especially since it seems that you mostly used it up already and put its power to good use with that little Templar trick just now - which, I admit, was quite impressive to behold - but you have done enough now. After this, you will no doubt struggle for a few weeks, and it won't be easy, but when has it ever been easy? You will make it through this, just like you always have."

Dorian was monitoring Cullen closely while he spoke to him, trying to ascertain if his words got through to the commander. But he just stared back at him as if the mage in front of him was made from pure lyrium himself. 

"If that is so," Cullen began, his voice disturbingly quiet all of a sudden. "then just one more bottle won't make a difference now."

"Oh, please, Commander," Dorian rolled his eyes dramatically. "The 'just one more' excuse is the oldest in the book, and you know it. If you need to say 'just one more', it will never be 'just one more'. Did you say 'just one more bottle' when you decided to stop taking lyrium back in Kirkwall? I would be very surprised if you did."

Dorian took a careful look around. There were no enemies in their immediate vicinity anymore, the brunt of the attack being pushed back by Inquisition forces, but the situation here was starting to become no less worrying and dangerous. Cullen still sat on his heels several meters away from him, slightly slumped over and outwardly calm, his hands resting on his thighs. But his pupils were far too dilated for the brightness of the midday sun and his face was clammy from a thin layer of sweat. Dorian feared that at any given moment he would just leap at him like a lion for its prey. And even an injured lion could still be dangerous. Dorian would be more than able to defend himself, but the last thing he wanted to do was having to use magic on his friend.

"You have lyrium in those bottles. I can hear it. Give it to me," Cullen hissed through clenched teeth and it sounded like something that was supposed to be a final warning.

Dorian drew a deep breath. It became more and more apparent that he had to get rid of his lyrium supplies if he wanted to prevent further escalation. The only other option would be to retreat and leave the wounded commander to his own devices, and Dorian certainly wasn't willing to do that.

It would have been the easiest to just down his remaining two lyrium flasks on the spot, and Maker knew he could certainly use the extra mana reserves to protect them both, if the enemies would manage to break through again. But guzzling down the blue liquid in plain sight of the commander seemed like a profoundly bad idea in this situation. Dorian reckoned that it would be akin to having a lavish banquet in front of a starving man and may just as well trigger the extreme reaction that he was trying to prevent in the first place.

Slowly he removed the two flasks from his belt, making sure to keep his eyes on Cullen the entire time. Cullen's gaze was fixated on the two tiny bottles as if they were everything that existed in his world right now. Then, with a sudden movement, Dorian spun around and hurled the bottles away, letting them shatter against the pillars of the old bridge. The lyrium trickled down into the river where it quickly dissipated, drowning the song with it in the whispering waters.

Cullen had instinctively jumped up in reaction, trying to reach the bottles before they exploded into tiny fragments of glass and a spray of azure droplets against the ancient stone. But his anemic legs still refused to carry him further than a few steps, and he tumbled back down into the riverbed with an unceremonious splash. 

Dorian quickly rushed to Cullen's side, crouching down next to him. Very carefully he laid the palm of his hand on his friend's shoulder, not wanting to startle him any further. Cullen was breathing heavily and it took a while until he slowly lifted his head again. His face was ashen from exhaustion and loss of blood, but his gaze had cleared up considerably and the spell of the lyrium seemed to have been broken when the blue liquid was being swept away in the soft current of the creek.

"How are you feeling?" Dorian asked.

Cullen just shook his head in response, his face strained from the pain that now set in again without the soothing melody of the lyrium to calm it.

"It would appear that the enemy has retreated," Dorian stated after taking a look around. "That should give us some time to get you back to the main camp. Your injury still needs proper care. And everything else can wait until after that."

Much to Dorian's surprise, Cullen didn't object this time. He just nodded quietly as if all his will to resist had drained away from him. The mage carefully slung Cullen's arm over his shoulder and helped him to get back on his feet.

"Don't worry. We'll get this all sorted out again, I promise," Dorian said with a reassuring grin. 

"You'll be fine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was difficult to write, I hope it turned out well.
> 
> Two or three more chapters to come...


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of "What Pride Had Wrought" was just ripe with plot holes in the game. Like, how on earth did the advisors get back to Skyhold so quickly after the Inquisitor traveled through the Eluvian?
> 
> No instant teleport back home in this story for you, Cullen. Sorry...

Hours later Cullen was sitting on the field bed in his tent back in the main camp. A gentle breeze rocked the flaps of the entrance back and forth, letting in occasional rays of golden evening light. His armor, coat and tunic were piled up in a tidy heap next to him, leaving him with only his boots and breeches, and - as Cullen deemed it - an unduly large amount of bandages wrapped around his waist. But the healer that had taken care of his wound, a very sweet elven lady, would not be dissuaded and kept wrapping layer upon layer around him.

She had done good work though, removing the remaining fragments of lyrium and reducing the jagged, gaping wound to nothing but some freshly scarred tissue, still red and angry, but only pulsing with a dull residual pain. When she finally left, she gave him the order to take several days' worth of rest, an order which both of them knew the commander would not heed.

How could he rest when the Inquisitor and her party were still nowhere to be found? How could he sleep with the lure of lyrium whispering in his mind stronger than it has for months? The events of the day had left him exhausted, empty and weary, but still he knew that there was no respite to be found, no matter how tired he was.

And tired he was. Just completely and utterly tired of all this shit. Sometimes he felt that whenever he managed to claw himself a bit out of the dark hole that had trapped him for years, some invisible force took a perverse pleasure in kicking him back in again. Was it really worth the effort to stand up again and again, if at the end he just found himself on the ground once more?

His increasingly angry chain of thought was suddenly interrupted when someone pushed away the canvas of the tent flaps. Cullen looked up to see Dorian standing in the entrance, wearing his trademark disarming smile.

"I would have knocked, but it's a bit difficult, given the current lodging," he greeted Cullen cheerfully.

Apparently the mage had changed his attire since they last saw each other, as he was now wearing a robe of similar design, but made from different fabrics. Instead of blue velvet he was now clad in ruby-colored silk with silverite highlights, accompanied by dark green overknee leather boots and gloves from the same material, replacing the white nugskin ones that undoubtedly had been ruined by the smears of Cullen's blood.

Cullen gawked at him for a moment. Was this man for real? Did he _actually_ bring not one, but two of those absurdly flamboyant apparels into the wilderness? 

"Dorian," Cullen said lamely. "Can I do something for you?"

"Oh, no, not at all," Dorian replied as he let himself into the tent. "I just wanted to see how my favorite Commander of the Inquisition was doing."

"I'm fine," Cullen was quick to reply.

"That's not saying much, coming from you."

"You needn't concern yourself," Cullen paused and glanced over to Dorian. "Any news?"

The mage sighed as he sat down on the bed next to Cullen. "Corypheus and his army have withdrawn. Whatever they came here for is probably not in that temple any longer."

He paused for a moment before he continued. "Still no trace of the Inquisitor or her party. But I would take that as a good sign. If they were dead, surely we would have found some remains by now."

"If that is supposed to be a good sign, I don't want to know what you consider 'bad signs'," Cullen huffed.

"That's not all," Dorian continued. "Leliana's men have scouted the temple. There were some dead elves at the entrance, but none inside - if there were any left, they have abandoned the place. Within the temple the scouts found what appears to be the shattered remains of another Eluvian, just like the one Morrigan brought to Skyhold. Leliana thinks that maybe the Inquisitor has used the mirror to escape from Corypheus before it was destroyed. It's the most plausible explanation at this moment anyway. Maybe have used it to travel back to Skyhold."

"That's a lot of 'maybes' to go on," Cullen harrumphed.

"True," Dorian conceded. "But I for one firmly believe that our fearless leader is probably taking a well-deserved hot bath in her quarters at this very moment. Leliana and Josephine share that assessment and are currently preparing carrier birds to send to Skyhold."

He stopped for a moment and glanced over to Cullen. "You might want to add a few lines of your own. You know, telling her that you are alright."

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck and finally nodded with a sigh. "You're probably right. I will write something up for her." Cullen was not exactly known as an optimist, but this one time he allowed himself that flicker of hope, the comforting prospect that Hjordis was safe and sound back in Skyhold already and that he would see her again. He just couldn't bear any other thought.

"Well then," Dorian said. "Now that this is settled, mind telling me how you _really_ feel?"

Cullen groaned exasperatedly. "Why does no one ever believe me when I say I'm fine?"

"Maybe because it's almost never true?" Dorian offered. "That, and you're just a terrible liar," he added when Cullen rolled his eyes at him.

Cullen paused and pinched the nose between his eyes. He knew how relentless Dorian could be if he had set his mind on something. He did however appreciate the fact that the mage hadn't told anyone what exactly had happened a few hours ago in the shallow waters in front of the ancient temple. It seemed only fair to not leave him in the dark completely.

"It's not so bad, really. It's just...," Cullen began. "I just hate how vulnerable the shackles of my past have left me. What good is it to have broken the leash that bound me, if a single scratch like that can shatter my mind into shambles again? How am I supposed to function if this will just haunt me forever?"

"Ah, there you go again, all doom and gloom," Dorian observed. "Have you considered that maybe this is not a permanent state? You have achieved within a few months what everybody previously thought to be completely impossible. Why would you assume that this is the end of it? Give it more time, and I'm sure you will eventually be not as susceptible to the lure of lyrium anymore, even when it gets a bit too close for comfort. It's something to think about, at least."

"Maybe," Cullen muttered. "But at the moment all this is just a reminder for me why I _should_ be taking it."

"Then, my friend, you need something to remind you why you shouldn't, and I know just the thing," Dorian declared as he stood up from the bed and gave Cullen a jovial slap on the shoulder.

"You will want to see this anyway," he added with an enigmatic smile. "It seems the Inquisitor has left a present for us."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mysterious Dorian is mysterious? (You can probably guess what the "present" is though.)
> 
> But these two just work so well together! Cullen, constantly exasperated, and Dorian, jocular but earnest in intent, and utterly unfazed by Cullen's occasional bad tempers. I could just have them talk for hours, but the plot, such as it is, has to go somewhere...


	6. Chapter 6

Cullen looked at Dorian with furrowed brows. He didn't really have the mind for one of Dorian's jests at the moment, yet he admitted to some curiosity about this so-called present. He would have preferred not to face the world outside the linen canvas of his tent right now however. Too bright for his tired eyes, too loud for his aching head, too lively, too full of... everything.

"Can't you just bring it here?" he asked.

"I'm afraid I cannot."

Cullen answered with a deliberately dramatic sigh as he leaned forward to reach for a fresh woolen tunic. "I suppose I should get dressed then."

"You should indeed," Dorian nodded. "But if I may be so bold, I would like to suggest that you don your armor and coat as well."

Cullen glanced back at him in confusion, slightly alarmed. "Are you expecting a battle?"

"Not at all," the mage replied offhandedly.

"Then why...?"

"For the same reason that you normally wear all that brash fur and metal, even when you are not expecting a battle. Just trust me on this one."

As Dorian spoke, Cullen's facial features became increasingly more crumpled and exasperated with each second. He had no idea what Dorian was on about again. But he had to admit that the mage had been a help beyond compare today, so he decided to humor him just this once.

"Alright, fine," he gnarled at him as he reached for the pieces of plate resting at his side.

Dorian watched with obvious fascination as Cullen worked his way through numerous clasps, buckles and straps to put on his armor. With each silverite piece of mail that he strapped onto his body the imposing Commander of the Inquisition came to life bit by bit in front of Dorian's very own eyes. Finally he donned the fur-lined overcoat and buckled on his longsword.

"Your coat," Dorian remarked. "It has been cleaned already?"

"Ah, um, yes," Cullen stammered. "The healer that was here earlier used some sort of cleaning spell. Can you imagine? I have been a Templar for over 10 years and I didn't know such thing even existed."

"Wait, the healer that was sent to take care of your wounds took the time to clean your favorite coat as well? Well, your only coat, I would suspect. Still, that is amazingly heart-warming," Dorian cheered. "Not surprising though. You wouldn't believe how many people here look up to you and care for your well-being, even if it's just the state of your clothes."

Cullen shrugged helplessly, as if Dorian had just accused him of doing something wrong. He had never been very good at accepting compliments.

"Ah well," Dorian sighed, as he turned to go. "Let's not waste any more time then, yes?"

"This better be good," Cullen muttered as he followed the mage out of the tent and into the light of the setting sun.

The camp was bustling with life and commotion. Soldiers were still returning from the Wilds, healers were taking care of the wounded, priestesses prayed over the fallen. Cullen barely took note of the countless saluting hands and greeting nods that followed him around the camp as Dorian led him to a small solitary tent at the far side of the encampment. Armed soldiers were guarding the tent, the flaps of the entrance opened so that Cullen could see inside as they were approaching.

Inside the tent a man cowered on the ground, hands and legs constrained, his head hanging low. Although calling him a man would have been an overstatement. It was just the husk of a man and Cullen immediately recognized the haggard, pallid face underneath the dark messy hair: Samson, leader of the Red Templars.

Cullen slowed his approach as his brows knitted together. "How...?"

"The scouts found him in the temple," Dorian explained. "Unconscious, hands and legs bound. Apparently the Inquisitor wanted to bring him in for judgment after she defeated him in battle."

"Of course," Cullen nodded slowly, as he continued to move, leaving Dorian behind. The soldiers saluted and stepped out of his way, as Cullen bent low to enter the tent.

Samson slowly lifted his head and Cullen winced slightly at his sight. The former templar looked like a living dead, even compared to the rugged, unkempt man he remembered from Kirkwall, when Samson was begging for lyrium on the streets of the city. His eyes were bloodshot and clouded from exhaustion, with deep black rings running underneath. The lips were dry and cracky, and thin blue veins were visible all over the face under the sickly skin.

"Well, well, well," Samson jeered at him in his broad Kirkwall vernacular. "If it isn't the glorious Commander of the Inquisition, gracing me with his presence. Came here to gloat, weren't you?"

Cullen squinted at Samson in apprehension. He now understood why Dorian asked him to put on his full armor. He wouldn't have wanted to stand here dressed as a mere man. Dorian was right about one thing, he wore his armor not just for the potential chance of battle. He liked his attire because it made him seem more than he actually was. (Or more than Cullen thought he was, anyway). It was as much a protection against swords and arrows as it was a shield against an unkind world that should never be allowed to see inside him. Although apparently it didn't work on Dorian and it was scary just how well the mage understood his thoughts when even he himself didn't.

"Well, you shouldn't gloat just yet," Samson continued his rant. "You may have defeated me, but you have not defeated Corypheus. You think you can defeat a _god_? Corypheus will rip your precious Inquisitor into such tiny pieces that you will have to..."

"I'm not here to gloat," Cullen interrupted him harshly, lacking the patience for Samson's predictable threats and taunts.

"Then what?"

"I thought maybe you could answer some questions," Cullen replied, his voice now calm and neutral.

"I don't think I have much to say to you," Samson gnarled back.

"Indulge me," Cullen replied, his hands clasping the pommel of his sword as it often was his habit. "It's not like you have much else to do here." He drew a deep breath before he continued. "I know you were expelled from the Templars, but did that really leave you so resentful that you had to drag all the men and women serving the Order with you into this miserable fate?"

"I _saved_ the Order," Samson spat out with bitter anger. "I gave them a goal, purpose, hope, when there was none."

Cullen glared at Samson incredulously. " _Purpose_!?" he repeated, his voice almost breaking in disbelief. "Forgive me, but when did serving an ancient darkspawn magister in an attempt to destroy the known world became eligible for being considered a 'purpose'? You betrayed the Order, twisted everything they stood for and turned it against them!" His rage grew with every word he hurled at him.

"Look who's talking, _commander_ ," Samson snapped back with a spiteful jeer. "You abandoned the Order, didn't you, ran away when things got a bit too unpleasant for you. Found yourself another cause for which you could play the obedient pet. And now you feign to care for their fate? I brought the Order back to glory, so spare me your sanctimonious lectures."

Cullen needed a moment to calm his rage. He knew it was wasted on this conquered man who had only anger and bitterness left in that broken, lyrium-ravaged body of his. "Be that as it may," he finally continued, his voice calm and quiet again. "I have read the letters you wrote to your lieutenants in Emprise du Lion. You knew exactly what you were doing. You knew you were tearing out the soul of every man and woman you fed that blighted red lyrium. And no matter how much you throw around grand words like hope and purpose, you did it only for yourself. You craved the attention, the power, the revenge against a world that had wronged you. And you can't even admit it. You are pathetic and not worth my time. I just wish you would have acted out your madness without dragging all those formidable people into the abyss with you. "

With that he turned to go, but before he was able to leave the tent, Samson spoke up again. "Commander. Wait."

His voice sounded different now. Less angry, quieter and almost... pleading.

Cullen turned his head around. "What?"

Samson looked at him with deadened eyes. "Probably not a good time to ask, but... if it's all the same to you, maybe you could hook me up with some dust?"

Cullen blinked and for a moment he thought he had misheard. Has that outrageous man, who only moments ago was raving about the glory of Corypheus and rationalized the downfall of the Templar Order with some twisted sense of purpose, just asked him for lyrium?

"I'm afraid we do not carry the variation of 'dust' you are accustomed to," he finally managed to reply, struggling to control his voice.

"So I would imagine," Samson huffed. "But I would settle for some of the blue stuff. Even though it would be like trying to water the Western Approach with a teacup, it's something at least."

Cullen stared at Samson for a few moments, eager to decline his request. Why should he give him something to ease the pain? Didn't he deserve to suffer for all that he had done? Yet, when he looked at Samson, hunched over on the ground, he saw something frightfully recognizable in him. The unquenchable hunger in his eyes, the all-too-familiar tremors in his hands that he tried to hide by digging his fingertips deep into his thighs.

"Surely you have some of the little bottles with you. Spare one, for old times' sake?" Samson continued to plead with a crooked, desperate grin on his face.

Cullen looked at the man in front of him, or what the lyrium had left of him. A man that wanted to rule the world and now was reduced to beg for a pinch of relief, from the people holding him captive no less, the people he wanted to destroy with spiteful vengeance just a few hours ago. And suddenly Cullen could think of no greater punishment and no bigger humiliation then to leave this wretched man wallowing in his addiction, forever bound, forever chained, forever at the mercy of whoever was holding his lyrium leash.

"I don't have any lyrium on me," he finally said. "But I will have someone sent to you."

And then he turned around and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Samson is dealing out some low blows here. (Cullen too though.)
> 
> Interesting fact: if you sentence Samson to prison in the game, you can talk to him in the cells later. The dialogue implies that the Inquisition isn't giving him any lyrium, but it is very compelling to think that Cullen would consider a continued addiction a greater punishment than the pain of withdrawal.
> 
> Next chapter will finally conclude this little story!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up being a bit longer than the others, but I felt it was necessary to wrap up everything nicely, and I didn't want to split it into two parts.
> 
> So enjoy this slightly longer final chapter of my story (and finally some fluff too!).

An advance party was to leave for Skyhold the very next day. Josephine and Leliana would be part of it to report to the Inquisitor who was assumed to be back at the fortress. Cullen insisted of coming along as well, even though his barely-healed wound would make the galloping ride back home a very painful endeavor. He extensively argued why he needed to debrief the Inquisitor in person regardless and why it couldn't wait for another few days. In truth, all he wanted was to finally close his arms around her again, bury his face in her strawberry blonde hair and soak up the scent of the cheap but delightful embrium soap she liked to use.

His argument why his presence was so urgently needed in Skyhold must have been a bit too passionate, as Leliana and Josephine exchanged clandestine smiles when they finally agreed, and Cullen immediately knew that they had seen through him.

The journey back home began uneventful. They traveled a lot and rested little, and Cullen was grateful for that. Every minute they didn't move closer to their destination only increased his restlessness. The nights were the worst, Cullen didn't even attempt to sleep, he knew that his concern about the Inquisitor and the resurgent lure of the lyrium would grant him no respite anyway.

Moreover, in order to speed up the journey they minimized the baggage their horses had to carry and only brought three tents for the travel party of ten. Cullen would have had to share the tent with Josephine, Leliana and Dorian, and he didn't feel comfortable sleeping alongside other people. It had taken him a while to get used to Hjordis sleeping at his side and now he enjoyed it more than anything else in the world, but sharing a small tent with three people, even if they were friends, was not a thought he could stand.

So he would just spend the nights at the campfire, keeping guard alongside his soldiers, sometimes dozing off for an hour or two. During the day, Dorian would keep him company, sometimes engaging him in idle conversation, but mostly just riding alongside him in enjoyable silence, as Dorian knew that the commander's heart wouldn't be in it anyway.

On the third day, halfway on route back home, a huge raven landed on Leliana's shoulder when the group was taking a short break at a crossroads. The spymaster immediately recognized it as one of her carrier birds from Skyhold, and the party gathered around her as she removed a small rolled-up letter from the metal casing tethered to the creature's leg. Everyone stood silent as her eyes darted back and forth over the parchment. And as a rare, broad smile unfurled across her face, Cullen knew immediately: Hjordis was save.

Before they continued their journey they sent a message back to Skyhold. This time Cullen included a longer letter, explaining everything that happened to him back at the elven temple. He didn't like to worry Hjordis, but she needed to know eventually, and words came easier to him when he could write them down.

Then finally, shortly before sunset of the sixth day, the band of travelers reached their destination. As people gathered on the battlements of the fortress, the group trotted over the long bridge leading into Skyhold. They had managed the arduous journey from the Arbor Wilds back to the Frostback Mountains in record time, but it had taken a toll on everyone. There was no one in the troop that didn't suffer from an aching back and weary arms by now.

Cullen felt as if his body was going to tear apart any moment. The constant motion of his galloping horse hadn't given his wound a chance to fully heal, the pain of withdrawal has been gnawing at every fiber of his body since that battle in front of the ancient temple, and the lack of sleep had carved deep lines into his face. Yet he felt more elated than he had in weeks when they finally rode through the tall gate into the courtyard.

Soldiers and servants greeted them and took charge of their fatigued horses and the sound of horns signaled their arrival. As the group began to ascend the stairs towards the Great Hall, a number of people appeared at the entrance. And amidst them stood the Inquisitor, wearing a plain green and grey outfit and a sloppy pony tail, as it was her usual habit. Her reddish hair was being illuminated by the light of the setting sun, making it shine dazzingly bright.

After a short pause she whirled down the stairs towards them, meeting them on the platform halfway up the stairway. Cullen didn't even have the time to open his mouth to greet when she hurled her arms around his neck and pressed a bright, messy kiss into his face. Then she leaned back a bit and smiled at him with a disarming cheerfulness.

"Welcome home."

 

In the Great Hall the group began to split up. As Josephine and Leliana moved towards the War Room, Dorian appeared next to Cullen, resting his hand on the commander's shoulder.

"I shall take my leave then," he began. "Let's chat a bit later, yes? Maybe have a game of chess, once things have settled down a bit."

"You really enjoy losing, don't you?" Cullen replied with a wry smile.

"Not at all," the mage laughed. "As a matter of fact, I hate losing with a passion. I do enjoy a good company however, so that makes more than up for it." He smirked at him and turned to leave, when Cullen cleared his throat as if he meant to say something more.

"And, well...," he began rather awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Thank you for... well..."

"Don't mention it. It's been a pleasure," Dorian replied with a grin, took a small, elegant bow and then left towards the library, where he usually spent most of his time.

As Cullen and Hjordis walked towards the War Room together, she glanced at him with a worried look. "Cullen, you look absolutely terrible. You really need a rest," she said.

"I know," Cullen replied. "So let's get this War Council meeting over with quickly."

 

But as it turned out, it wasn't over quickly. The Inquisitor had much to explain, and Cullen had a short fit of bad temper when he learned that in the elven temple Hjordis had drunk from some ancient magical device and now was potentially 'bound to the will of Mythal', for whatever that meant. How someone could consider it a good idea to drink from something called _'the well of sorrows'_ of all things was simply beyond Cullen. Finally it was decided that the Inquisitor would leave two days later to find the 'altar of Mythal' and the meeting was concluded. As Josephine, Leliana and Morrigan left the room together, Cullen was still bent over the table, shuffling around a bunch of papers, his forehead crumpled in anger.

"What?" Hjordis asked in a soft voice as she moved around the table towards him. Cullen lifted his head, exasperation written all over his face. "I still can't believe you drank from that Maker-forsaken well!" he snapped. "What in the world were you think-..." Hjordis' index finger, pressed gently against his lips, stopped him mid-sentence. "Shh," she hummed softly. "Not today, alright?"

As she wrapped her arms around his neck, he sighed and finally nodded. "Alright. Not today."

Hjordis looked at him for a few moments, her fingers playing with the short hair at the nape of his neck. "You should really take some rest now," she finally said.

"I will," Cullen replied almost instantly.

A playful smile formed on Hjordis' lips. "What is this? No argument, no excuses, no me having to order you to bed? Who are you and what have you done to Commander Cullen?"

Cullen chuckled slightly, folding his arms around her waist. "Well, there is one condition though."

"Do tell."

"You are going to rest with me," he murmured as he leaned in to kiss her.

As their lips slowly parted again, Hjordis let her hands slide down his neck and over his breastplate. "I think I can live with that," she answered with a smile and linked her arm with Cullen. Together they walked through Josephine's office and into the Great Hall. Hjordis immediately steered him towards the left, towards her own quarters. She wouldn't have him rest in that drafty ruin he called his bedroom.

Hjordis' room welcomed them with a gentle light emanating from the fireplace and the cozy embrace of its warmth. Cullen sat down on the edge of the bed, which seemed ridiculously soft under the weight of his armor-clad body. He usually didn't mind sleeping on rigid field beds, but now he wanted nothing more than to just fall back and let the supple wool envelope his aching limbs. He began to loosen the laces at the back of his boots, while Hjordis changed into her nightgown.

"I read your letter," she began. "I was worried about you."

"I'm sorry."

"What for?" she asked with furrowed brows.

"I didn't mean to trouble you with my letter," he sighed as he kicked away his boots.

Hjordis laughed and shook her head. "Cullen, you know I hate it when you apologize for things like that. Plus, I should be the one apologizing anyway. I promised I would come back for you and I didn't exactly do that," she said as she moved over to him, now dressed in nothing but a flimsy nightdress.

He looked at her with halted breath. "You are forgiven," he murmured absent-mindedly, unable to turn his gaze away from her alluring figure and the soft sway of her round hips.

"And you are too kind," Hjordis cooed as she climbed into the bed and sat down behind him. She immediately began to help him out of his coat and armor, and once all metal, fur and leather was removed from his torso, she began to rub her hands in gentle circles over the strained muscles of his back.

Soon enough Cullen began to hum like an enraptured fool as her hands massaged the pain out of the tense sinews of his shoulders, her thumbs circling with gentle pressure over each knuckle of his spine. Finally she wrapped her arms around him and let her chin rest on his shoulder.

"I missed you," she murmured softly into his ear.

Cullen answered with a vaguely affirmative hum, and it was quite a while until he opened his eyes again. The throbbing exhaustion in his bones had turned into a pleasant, welcoming sleepiness. It took him a good amount of willpower to part from her embrace and stand up again. "I'll be back in a few moments," he promised as he walked over to the bathroom to wash away the gravest stains of the long journey.

Finally he returned, freshened up and only wearing short woolen breeches and the bandages around his waist. Hjordis was sprawled all over the bed, eyes half-closed, her hair spread around her head like a halo of fire. The chimney, now the only source of light in the room, illuminated her with a flickering amber glow as she watched Cullen approach the bed with a gentle, adoring gaze in her eyes.

As soon as Cullen had slid under the blanket, Hjordis crawled up at his side, resting her head at his shoulder. He fingers stroked tenderly over his neck and jaw line as she glanced up to him. "Cullen?"

"Hmm?" he hummed drowsily.

"The red lyrium...," she began, uncertain how to continue. "...you sure you're alright?"

"Yes," he answered quickly out of habit, although he knew that she would see right through him. And so she did and he felt her huffing against his neck. "No," he corrected himself with a sigh. "But I will be. Eventually." He closed his eyes and pulled her closer to his side. "Let's talk about this tomorrow."

"Alright. Tomorrow then," she muttered with a slumberous voice and smooched a lazy kiss on the gently pulsing vein at his neck.

"Don't worry," he whispered into her hair as the tender embrace of sleep began to envelope him.

"I'll be fine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this wraps up my first attempt at a fan fiction! Not much plot going on, I guess, it's more meant to be an exercise in describing situations/emotions/atmospheres and a bit of character study.
> 
> At some point I want to write larger story for my Trevelyan/Cullen, but this will take a bit more planning and preparation.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading, and thanks for leaving comments and kudos! I had a ton of fun writing this little piece and I'm glad that people enjoyed it!


End file.
